


"In Raptures, I embrace"

by historia_vitae_magistras



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, warning: accidental monogamy, warning: even my porn has footnotes, warning: straight sex, warning: twat snorkeling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-11-20 14:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historia_vitae_magistras/pseuds/historia_vitae_magistras
Summary: Miserable and neglected in Berlin, Gilbert flees east the looking for something he can't quite name. On the eve of the 70th anniversary of Prussia's end, Erzsé intercepts him in Budapest and decides to put a stop to it all.Or: That one where Ludwig and Gilbert can't get their shit together, Erzsé makes them get their shit together and there is more twat snorkeling than I'd care to admit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by the ever spectacular Katuman : )

  
  
  
  


 

A star within the sky

Upon my knees my love,

For whom I live and die;

And rock her on my knees,

Just as the dewdrop sways

Upon the leafy trees

-From Alexander Petofi’s, My Wife and My Sword

* * *

Budapest

February 24th, 2017

She knew the moment he crossed her border. Her heart dropped, and the fine hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. She snapped up, pen hitting the desk and rolling away from her hand. It wasn’t the powerful Pull of Ludwig, or the pleasant hum of Roderick’s, nor even the spark of colour she felt when Felix crossed down from Poland.

This Pull was far fainter. There was none of the robust sensation nation rooted in law and borders, but a watercolour imprint sustained by culture and memory. Heat pooled between her legs as she relaxed around the awareness of his presence. These days, it was a feeling far fainter than Roderick’s, but far more tantalising. She sat back in her seat and let the familiar feeling wash over her. Sometimes she forgot what it was like to sense one of her kind without a daunting power behind it.

So often the weight of the Pull came with the promise of invasion, violence or intimidation. But since the wall fell and Gilbert’s is so faint and so often affectionate, she can let the impression of him wash over her. He feels like obnoxious laughter, polished guns and the pounding of artillery, but so faintly that it only manages to excite, rather than threaten. Her face went hot.

She got up from her desk and rushed for her purse, keys, and coat. She rushed past the mirror, not bothering to check for offset curls or lipstick on her teeth. It was just Gilbert, but she was far overdue for a good round or two in bed.

The Pull didn’t get any stronger as she drove from the city centre out towards the airport. Ferihegy was bustling and loud, but there wasn’t any increase in sensation. No extra warmth. There’s only the external heat of her Audi’s heated leather seats doing its best to slow cook her ass. Ludwig had made sure her A3 came with all the extras. Four doors, all-wheel drive, heated seats, bombastic speakers, a sun-and-moon roof; and everything came topped off with shiny grey leather and a sparkling custom paint job. All to celebrate the fact she was allowing Audi to manufacture within her borders. Germany had presented it to her apologetically as if 11,000 new jobs were a bad thing.

She’d parked it the Bavarian countryside. Outside of Audi’s headquarters and under the shadow of the Alps, she’d wasted no time in breaking in the back-bench seat. She'd been the one to drag him into the backseat by his tie. She'd been the one who'd ruffled his hair out of the proper slicked-back style Ludwig had insisted upon. She'd been the one to take him in her hand and squeeze until he squirmed.

But he'd been the one to flip them on her back, dragging her dress up and screw her harder than he had since The Wall came down. He’d looked high with fantastic economy pounding through his veins. She knew he'd beeen scared; as if he couldn't believe he was about to fuck her so close to the Austrian border. He'd shoved that concern down and replaced it with brutal efficacy. Gilbert's kisses had been white-iron hot, and he’d left bruises with every touch. The car’s custom paint job was dark blue, he whispered. His blue, Prussian blue. Gilbert had hissed in her ear as he’d pounded into her with the old intensity she missed like her old port in Fiume.

She ran a hand along the chrome lines of the dashboard and sighed. Gilbert was already inside her borders. She wanted to feel the intensity of him once more. She still ached sometimes for the man he'd been before the last war and the wall. When he'd been her equal instead of the shadow of a man he was now. The Pull was still faint, though, even as she made a second loop around Ferihegy. She stopped with traffic for a moment and then something crossed her mind. Keleti.

East Germany, ever the smartass, had come through Keleti Train Station. The Eastern Train Station. She rolled her eyes as she wheeled the car around sharply. Any other car’s plates would have been pulled over for it, but her federal plates were still worth something. The trip was short. Traffic was lighter now that the sun was going down and the winter was so cold.

She parked a few blocks away from the station and made a point to walk as quickly as she could. Winter nipped at her, even through the thick wool of her coat. God, she longed for Italy and her old palaces in the Mediterranean sun sometimes. But Erzsébet entered the station and made her way through the narrow corridors. She was under the high vaulted platform before the Pull tugged a little harder this time. She turned on instinct. There he was.

Gilbert looked wan as he stepped off the escalator and joined the throngs of people rushing from their trains into the city. As he sidled off to the corner, Erzsébet stood back to watch him for a moment. She squinted at him, trying to figure out what was different. He had bundled himself into a coat and hat over his jeans. His boots were as polished as ever. He’d never quite been able to kick that militaristic habit. He looked dressed up enough for this time of year.

She wished she could get a better look at his face before she approached him. It was always better to know his mood before she set hers for the encounter. Instead of the smirk he usually wore, his face was turned up in the old durable, Soviet-approved smile he’d worn for most of the 1970s; She liked that smile sometimes. Only when the smile finally reached his eyes, though.

She watched him carefully as he dropped his bag at his feet and took out his phone. It was thin and flashy, top of the line. She knew Ludwig’s handiwork when she saw it. He scrolled and typed. She imaged him frowning all the way. Her pocket vibrated, and she rolled onto the side of the pillar away from him before she got it out. Three texts from Roderick, Feliciano and Felix she didn’t particularly feel like answering and- Ah! There it was, a new one.

**From: Gilbert**

*You done gawking? I’m ready to go.*

Her smile turned up at that. When she looked up, Gilbert had his bag slung over one shoulder and was making his slow way towards her. The Pull eased up as he approached her, disappearing as the normal human senses took him in. She frowned at him and tilted her head. Gilbert always moved quickly, using every inch of his long stride as efficiently as a German was wont to do. When he finally reached her, his bag dropped to the floor, and he leant sluggishly against the column.

“Why are you here?” She said by way of greeting. He raised an eyebrow at her use of English over German or Hungarian but responded in kind. English was neutral. Her accent was perfect now, though she didn’t have the ease of it that she had in Hungarian or even German.

He shrugged. “West kicked me out for the weekend. There was mentions of a belated Valentine’s Day weekend and new bed ties.” He shuddered in mock-horror. “I don’t ask questions anymore.”

“Yes, but why did you come here?” She questioned again. She was happy to see him, but it wasn’t as if she was about to tell him that.

“Well, I’m still East Germany. Figured I may as well go east and bless our newer EU brethren with the delight of my presence.” He grinned, but there’s still something wrong, something off and it’s not just the odd lilt his English still has even after 30 years of using it frequently.

“Mm.” She hummed, nodding. She looked at him and carefully kept up how she was leaning. Her back was straight, one heeled boot kicked up, arms folded over her chest. It was textbook Cold War femme fatal, the unholy posturing of sexy, dangerous and mysterious. But she couldn’t keep her face in the practised smirk as she scrutinised.

He noticed and inhaled, held it, and released the breath with the tension in his muscles. Erzsébet's eyebrow twitched. The patience in his tired face was unusual, much more suited for his brother's chiselled, stoic features than Gilbert’s sharp, lively face.

People were still passing around them on either side, but the rush was slowing. Keleti station wasn’t particularly busy at night. Darkness had been fast approaching when she’d entered. If Gilbert was going to be patient, Erzsébet wasn’t about to push him, but she wasn't keen on standing here forever, so she settled on something simpler.

“Hogy vagy?” She finally switched over to her language.

“I'm all right.” He deadpanned. It had been a thousand years and still didn’t quite have the hang of her tongue. He never could quite forget German's terse structure just as he could never embrace the colour of Hungarian. Her speech was creative, and for all his talents, Gilbert was very much not.

She raised a questioning eyebrow at him, conveying her stern disbelief.

His face had closed off at the questioning look. He held the brittle smile, but his eyes went flat. Erzsébet bristled. Something was off. He was leaning on the column too heavily and held himself too stiffly. She almost rolled her eyes, but if he didn’t feel like sharing, it wasn’t any business of hers. Their arrangement wasn’t that personal. She pursed her lips and cocked a hip. His eyes followed the motion.

“How are you? He asked as he followed the line of her figure up and down. He looked merely appreciative rather than lewd. “You look…” He trailed off, finishing his sentence by gesturing to her body.

“I look what?” She was still in the clothes she had worn to the office. It was Friday, so a pleated sweater dress and heels had been good enough. The red of the dress matched the remnants of her lipstick, which was more thought than she usually put into her appearance. She liked this shade of red. It suited her brown-gold hair. And even if it leeched a little colour from her eyes, it was a third of her flag, a third of her.

“I dunno. You look nice, I guess. Dressed up.” He shrugged and rested a hand on the back of his neck, looking sheepish. Erzsébet frowned. He never really did see her dressed up anymore. He certainly never saw her with her hair curled or even down. Her forays into Berlin were occasions for hair pulled away from her face, worn-in combat boots and old, colourless clothes. They had a lot more in common when she dressed like that. She pulled her coat closed over her dress, feeling oddly apologetic.

“Some of us still have to go to work. Sovereign nations and all.” She snapped.

Gilbert blanched and looked down. He looked embarrassed, even though his clothes didn’t exactly scream impoverished. His things were always plain, but well made. The standing collar of his coat was a few years out of date, but the wool was still thick. His jeans fit well, but they were still jeans.

“Yeah, well, I never did like all that fancy crap if it didn’t involve a dress uniform.” He shrugged and recovered, the glass smile pushing over his face again.

That was true. There had been 300-year stints where Gilbert never appeared in public without a Prussian or German uniform. She never minded. He looked best in it, even when Germany’s dull grey had replaced his elegant blue.

"I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t show up in a Bundeswehr uniform.” She acquiesced.

He grinned. “And give Lutz a stroke when all of Eastern Europe panics and calls in the United Nations? Oh, I’d love to see that.”

“I-”

He cut her off. It was more thoughtless than disrespectful, and she laughed at him as he mimicked talking on a landline.

‘Ach, Nyet! America, save us! The German War Machine rises again!’ He threw his voice into a deep Russian accent as he spoke the last words and the smile finally reached his eyes.

“I still can’t believe that was a real concern.” She grinned and remembered France and Britain’s speeches when The Wall had finally come down.

“I know right? Thatcher was a paranoid one. I mean God, even if I’d had it in me after the Gulag, I sure as shit didn’t after the wall fell. I’m one badass motherfucker, but going through four different nation states in sixty years was fucking exhausting!”

“Even for you.” She said, absently. Four? She counted. Prussia to East Germany to being the weaker half of the Bundesrepublik. That was three. Right, there was the short stint he’d done as Kaliningrad between ’45 and ’48.

“Now that you mention it…That’s kind of why I’m here.” He said and lowered his eyes. “It’s my seventieth tomorrow.”

“Your seventieth?”

“Yeah, y’know. February 25th isn't exactly a happy anniversary.”

Oh. Oh. The anniversary of Gilbert's disillusionment as Prussia. It was Erzsébet’s turn to blanch. “Oh my god, Gilbert. I completely forgot.”

He smiled grimly. “It’s okay. I mean, West did too. Shit, I probably would've if I wasn’t y’know, Prussia.”

“West forgot?” She clamped a hand over her mouth, suddenly a little nauseous. “Oh, Gil.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly tell him.” He shrugged. He looked a little pale, but more at ease with the admission out between them. Erzsébet’s gorge rose with anger on his behalf. The power balance of the 19th century had been utterly flipped by the 20th, but they were still brothers. They were still family. She had built and lost her own trying to replace Magyar. She scowled. God, Ludwig was just as pig-headed as Prussia and half as aware of it.

“You shouldn’t have to. He’s your brother!” She threw her hands up, and Gilbert's face flashed surprised. As if it was somehow shocking she would come in on his side.

“Yeah well, no one else remembered. I didn’t actually exp—” Gilbert buckled, barely catching himself on the pillar. She bit back a shout and reached for him.

“Whoa.” He muttered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He bore his own weight, but her grip on his coat was the only thing keeping his lurching ass upright.

“What the hell, Gilbert?” She could feel his skin burning through their clothes.

“Sorry! Shit, sorry. I blacked out a little.” He whispered.

“What the matter with you? You’re burning up.” She sounded more alarmed than she meant to.

“Yeah, that’d explain a fair bit. Fuck, Erzsé, I thought I had more time than this.”

“Had more time than what?” Her heart thumped in her chest. He’d survived the Crusades, plague, smallpox, all the wars, that last war. He'd endured the loss of first his people to his brother. Then his land and heart to Russia. Then his name to history.

There'd been a rough justice in the loss of his name to the Allies in 1947. Something had needed to be done that last time. The peace had to be lasting. She knew that. Ludwig knew that. Someone had needed to be blamed and punished. They all knew he'd worked out a deal with France and Russia. But Erzsébet always suspected that he'd volunteered for the decade in the Gulag, not the loss of his name. The shock and pain in his face when England had dropped that announcement had been too raw to have been faked. Ludwig, traumatised to the point of catatonia, hadn't raised a word in protest. And so no one had. But there had been a ripple of fear as they waited with bated breath for something to happen.

Nothing had, though. Gilbert had looked pallid and shaky as Ivan took him away, but there was nothing new about that. He didn't collapse or even scream his protests. He'd just quietly walked away, his eyes on his brother's still form.

The story had repeated in '89 when the wall had finally, blessedly collapsed. They'd been fevered with joy at their peaceful revolutions. All of Europe had all looked on, teary-eyed and delighted, as two halves of Germany had embraced. She'd followed the collapse of the Wall on TV from Roderick's arms in Vienna. Even her ex-husband had choked up, watching Ludwig's tall form envelop his slight, exhausted brother. His eyes had been ringed with shadows, and there had been pain lines in his forehead, but the grin and tears they shed had been the brightest site in Europe since 1945.

The next two years had passed in a tense, surreal ecstasy. Elections were held, the Soviet Union collapsed, the markets of Eastern Europe were flooded with goods they hadn't seen in 50 years. Roderick had never been so attentive, and her people had never been so conflicted in their joy and bewilderment at this strange new world. But Russian troops had finally pulled back into their own borders and Germany sold his brother's Baltic heart for their first real sovereignty in 50 years.

The politicians had been easily swayed rather easily. There had been murmurs of Germany rising again, of the eagle once more flying unchecked over Europe but the promises and changes of American influence had turned Ludwig and his people on a new path. Most saw that. Arthur, Francis and Ivan had taken longer to open their eyes. Fear of Gilbert's influence still held sway on their judgement.

They hadn't seen Gilbert as he was. Just the crackling memory of a cocky smirk and hard eyes under a helmet. After all, the horror of the last two wars had been the misapplication of Prussian values to the sheer brutality of German action.

But Ludwig had been swift and politically keen. He'd learned how to play politician and liberal without his brother over his shoulder. 50 years after the end of his last war, Ludwig performed the cruellest, kindest act of the long history of his short life. He took everything that had ever stood for Prussian militarism, every weapon, symbol and purpose of his brother's past and he'd secured them away in museums. His best king, his best sword, his best rifle had been buried or locked away. Honoured and protected, but utterly out of Gilbert's hands. The Volksarmee was dissolved into the politically correct, unblemished Bundeswehr. Gilbert's uniforms were burned. He was banned from the armed forces. Frederick the Great was buried, simultaneously lowering and repacking him as a revered tourist attraction. In one signature, Ludwig had at once gelded and shielded his brother.

Ludwig, in one move, killed his brother's spirit and saved his life.

Perhaps 70 years was too much, though, she thought. Maybe all those last East Prussians were dying too fast to be replaced by books and documentaries. Maybe his life was too faded to be preserved in a museum.

She swallowed her fear once more and opened her mouth.

"Are you finally fucking dying?”


	2. Chapter 2

Erzsébet ’s heart squeezed, her pulse banging prestissimo against her breast. Horror narrowed her vision down to a grey smudge around his pallid face. Her grip on him tightened until she was white-knuckling his coat. 

And then his chest rumbled against her. He was laughing as he moved to hold her around the small of her back and tucked his head against her shoulder. She still held most of their combined weight, it was a strangely intimate move on his part. The rumble deepened and she felt his voice on her shoulder, his mouth grinning against her neck.

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

Relief plunged her into clarity. She gasped as her heart skipped a beat. He continued.

“It’s just the date. I was hoping I could just wait it out in the basement but then Lutz kicked me out for the weekend and I didn’t know where to go.” He’d started with laughter, and now his voice wavered sadly.

Her slap cracked against his cheek, but somehow her grip on him had gone from just barely holding him upright to him to a full embrace. 

He winced at the slap and jumped at the hug. She wanted to comfort him, to say the right words, but that had never been her job. Her job was still somehow rooted in cannon fire, fixed bayonets and her arms around him. He snaked his arms around her and buried his face in her shoulder. 

“Sorry,” He mumbled. 

“It’s okay. You can make it up to me when you’re better.” She almost smiled.

“In my defence, I really didn’t think you’d come and meet me at the station. ” He said, extracting himself from her grip enough to look her in the eye. 

“Why would you even come then?

“Sorry. I figured I’d just go and hide on Saint Margaret’s for a couple of days, and you’d ignore me.” He lifted his gaze to her and shrugged. He looked more defeated leaning there with his hands in his pockets than he had in 1918. 

 

“I thought you were coming for a little bit of fun. It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah. I haven’t felt up for much lately. .” 

“It’s alright. You’re hardly the first man to leave me wanting.” She laughed at the scowl she felt him make against her dress. Roderick had spent the better part of a decade learning how to please her and the rest of their marriage trying to keep up. It wasn’t anything new for her to be unsatisfied and disgruntled. 

“That’s not fair. I always make sure you come before me.” He insisted. Erzsébet could laugh at how insulted he sounds. Gilbert and his fragile ego. 

“Yes, you’re very gallant.” She agreed, waving her hand dismissively. 

“Goddamn right I am.” He huffed. 

“Hey, Erzsé?”

“Hmm?” She hummed as gently as she could. He was still trembling with just the exertion of standing.

“I think- I think I need to sit down.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Do you want me to find a bench or can you make it to the door so I can pull the car around?”

“I’m pretty sure I can make it to a bench,” 

She glanced around, looking for an empty place to sit before she bodily hauled him across the platform to a bench. He went down hard, legs sliding out from under his body. His face twisted and her fell forward between his spread legs. He erupted in coughing, shoving his face into his elbow. When he choked on air, Erzsébet pounded him on the back. After a full couple of minutes, he went quiet, heaving with exertion.

“Christ, you going to make it?”

“Sorry, Erzsé.”

“Stop apologising for a damn minute, would you? You’ve apologised for more in the last half hour than you have in the last decade.”

“Sorry!”

She glowered. “I swear to God if you spend any more time in Toronto, I’m going to end up taking the train to Berlin and masturbating with a maple leaf instead of fucking you.”

He grinned at that and put on his best Canadian accent. “I don’t know what’cher talkin’ aboot there, eh. Fookin’ hoosier.”

She smacked him even as she couldn’t resist a grin. “That was awful.”

“Oh shut up, it was awesome. It’s better than when I try to do yours!”

“Do you want to goosestep your way home?” She threatened and jostled him a little.

“No, I really don’t.” He grinned even as he winced and then his face closed up. “Hey, is there any chance I can crash on your couch for a couple of days? Just until Romano finally drags Feli back down to Italy and the house in Berlin is safe. Then you can throw me on a train and sent West the bill.”

“No.”

“No?” His voice broke as the word drew out into a question. Gilbert being Gilbert, he recovered quickly, his tone going bright and brittle. “Heh, alright. Can’t handle my awesome ass for a weekend. That’s alrighty, not many can. Can you at least direct me toward the ticket office?” He went to extricate himself from her grip, as if he could get to his feet and march his proud ass back to Germany on foot.

She stopped him. “Hey, sit down before you faint again! I said no you can’t sleep on my couch. But amazing fact about the 21st century is that most houses these days do have guest bedrooms!”

He went lax into her grip. “Oh.”

“Yeah, dumbass. Besides, if I make sure you don’t die, you can go home and tell your brother what a responsible middle power I am and maybe I can extend that Audi contract back up to 15,000 jobs.”

He laughed. “That’s very pragmatic of you.”

“You scratch my back, I make sure yours doesn’t end up 6 feet under. I think that’s fair.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

In the ensuing silence, she maneuvered from her ass to her knees and let him fall against the bench until she could get a better look at him. He looked exhausted and worn down. It wasn’t a good look on him. He drew his face into her hands and he let her, surprisingly docile. His cheekbones were sharper, and streaked with fever-colour. His eyes fell shut and she moved her hands down his neck. He was desperately warm and his throat felt strangely swollen. She pressed down into his collar bones and winced with sympathy. His lymph nodes where the size of tangerines.

“Jesus, Gilbert. You must feel fantastic.” She nudged him playfully. He winced and his hand went to his chest.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong now?” She meant to huff it out with a bit of attitude, but it came out soft and concerned instead.

“I feel like actual shit. Like 1947 or 1709 shit. And at least they had the fucking decency to shoot me in ‘47.”

She should roll her eyes, call him dramatic and kick his ass back west. But instead, she finds herself rolling to her feet.

“Well, if you’re ready to get up, we can get you something for that fever and a bed.”

He looked relieved. She helped him up and together, they stumbled to the pickup area, where he sunk against the wall. She shouldered his bag and made quick work of the three blocks to the carpark. She made her way back fully expecting to help him into the car. But as soon as she had put it in park, he was in in the passenger’s seat, shivering violently.

“Son of a fucking bitch. I should have gone to Italy. It’s just as cold here as it is fucking Berlin.”

“Continental climate, sorry.” She grinned. He grunted at her and buckled up.

“You still living the good life up in Víziváros?” He asked as she put the car in drive and took off. She’d always enjoyed talking while driving. She didn’t have to look at him often and it was expected her attention would be less on whoever was riding shotgun and more on her roads. She’d tripled her roadways in the last 10 years, so almost all of her roads were new and smooth. It was a shame she didn’t use them more. 

“So what if I do? It has a good view.” She said, easing off the gas as she neared the speed limit. She wasn’t the wealthiest country, but a matchbox apartment in a swanky part of town had seemed like a fair trade off.

“Short drive then.” His voice was clipped with exhaustion.

“Actually, I was thinking we could head down to my place on the lake.” She really wanted to get out of the city all of a sudden. Today, she could point them southwest and and just drive. There was dramatic scenery along the stretch of road she took between the city and her cabin. It’d been a while since she’d had a chance to impress a visitor with her landscapes under young moonlight. If she wasn’t going to get laid, she may as well take the opportunity a pleasant time. Besides, there wasn’t much of a point in having an Audi if she hardly drove it.

“You want to go to your summer place in February? Are you trying to kill me?” His 

“I have definitely upgraded since 1975.”

“But it’s still a bit of a drive, isn’t it?”

“I just filled the tank and I could use a few days off. I have a couple weeks of roll over from last year and they expire at the end of the quarter.”

“You still have the private hot springs?”

“Sure do. They’re even attached to the house now!”

“That sounds…” His throat closed. He hacked into his elbow before he got enough steam to continue. “That sounds good. I brought trunks.”

“I’ll just have to stop by the flat and get some things. Then we’ll go.”

“Sounds fine to me.” He said and even across the center console, she could feel him shiver violently. He pulled his collar up, as if he was trying to disappear into his coat.

“I’ll leave the car running.”

“I’m not going to keel over if you turn off the car, I promise.”

“I’ll be quick. I already have a bag packed. I was thinking of coming up to see you next weekend.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Coming and seeing me as in spending the night and actually letting me buy you dinner? Or coming and seeing me as in you calling me at 3 in the morning and demanding sex in the Mauerpark?” 

She laughed a little guiltily. “Hey, you’re on the way to Brussels.”

He snorted, because no, he really wasn’t. She eyed him for a moment before returning her gaze to the road and shook her head.

He’d noticed. “Seh ich so Scheiße aus?"

“Yeah, you really look like shit. Like a goddamn Picasso from this angle. Are we jumping to German now?”

“Erszi, I can barely think in German right now.”

“You should have said so. It’s not like my German isn’t just as good as my Hungarian.”

“Except you still speak it like a fucking Austrian.”

“Hey, you and your Berliner Kraut only got sexier within the last century!”

He exhaled sharply at her and she wasn’t sure if it was an expression of pain or amusement. “Well, thanks. You’re looking pretty sexy yourself. New bra, I see.”

She huffed. “I’ve had it. You’re just not worth wearing a push up bra for.”

“Goddamn, woman, is that your conservative government or your free market economy talking? You’re grumpy.”

“We’re speaking your German. It always sounds grumpy.”

“Touche. But either way, you should be kissing ass to the largest economy in the EU.”

“Speaking of Ludwig, how is he?” She asked. 

“Oh fuck you.” He shot back, genuinely insulted. His voice was hoarse with exhaustion. 

“I hope so!” She muttered. Her face went warm with the thought of it. It’d been more than a month. 

“What?” He asked, utterly confused

“What?” She repeated, purposefully obtuse. 

“I said fuck you, I’m half.” Gilbert was a lot of things, but reducing him down to one half of his brother’s nation felt wrong. 

She huffed, dismissive. “Whatever. But seriously, how is Ludwig? He must be pretty stressed out if he forgot your anniversary.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “He’s Germany. He’s always stressed out.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t forget the sixtieth.” She pointed out. 

He sighed. “I was puking my guts out for the sixtieth. I mean, we were in the middle of the recession and I was sicker than fucking Greece.” 

“Now that’s an accomplishment.” 

“That’s what I said! But Lutz didn’t think it was funny. I think he thought I was going to kick it, finally.” 

“So what’s different?”

“Nothing. He’s just wrapped up in Italy and the EU and the migrant thing. Oh, and Russia putting new missiles up in Königsberg. Then there’s the fact that America is breathing down his neck about the military spending again.”

“Again?”

“We’re not meeting the quota. All of Europe trembles when Lutz so much as looks at a gun, but then there’s NATO pulling up a fuss every time Merkel doesn’t sign off on new military spending. Ludwig probably would have a stroke twice a week if he didn’t get laid. So yeah, him and Italy kicked me out.” 

“Nice.” She grunted. “Y’know, that’s really not fair. They could have gone down to Munich or Frankfurt. Berlin is kind of your city these days.”

“Yeah, but what was I going to do, go sleep in the park? They shake the house. And it’s Italy. He’s a fucking beam of sunshine.” She couldn’t see his expression, but she could see his sharp gesticulations her periphery. She imagined frustration framing his narrow face. 

“And?” She asked flatly. 

“And what? We live in Berlin.”

“What’s wrong with Berlin?”

“Nothing, it’s just- well it’s Berlin! Y’know, where it rains half the year and never gets above 70? It’s not exactly an inviting city!” 

“So?” She asked, keeping her voice neutral. He would rant on until he got to the real problem without her starting an argument. 

“So, I’m surprised they’re at home, where it’s freezing and raining and not down in Venice. Lutz could use a good fuck in a gondola or something. He’s been even more uptight than usual.” His voice was still low and sour. When she’d changed the subject, she’d expected a smile to light up his face. Talking about Ludwig never failed to. Gilbert was always, always happy to talk about Ludwig, praising the younger brother who had given him this new, envy-worthy life. But instead, he settled back in his seat and shivered. She flipped the heat vents so they all faced him.

“He’s with Feliciano pretty often then lately?”

“Always. It’s his happy place.” He sounded remarkably bitter. “I mean shit, Italy is my happy place. Except I think I’m the only one who’s not allowed to fuck Italy.”

“Right. Monogamy doesn’t exactly work for us.”

“Speak for yourself. The only action I’ve seen in the last year was on the Hungarian front. Unless you include an awkward blow job in Saskatchewan.”

“That sounds cold.”

“Oh, let me tell you. It put a whole new spin on blue balls. And this is coming from me, who spent what, a decade in Siberia?”

“Just shy of it.”

“Yeah, well there’s the reason I don’t fucking like the cold.” He embellished the statement with a dramatic shudder. She would have turned up the heat, but her bangs were already sticking to her face with sweat. 

She snorted. “No shit. And hey, if it means anything, my largest trading partner is Germany, so at least I’m keeping my cheating heart in the family.”

“Oh, gross. That’s my baby brother.”

“Your big, blonde, sexy baby brother. Mmm. Muscles like the Gods’, that one. And shit, can he bake.”

“That’s disgusting. And literally? Or are we talking about something else?”

She raised an eyebrow that he couldn’t see. “I swear, his Black Forrest Cake owns a part of my soul.”

“Fucking southerners.”

“Well I’m sorry your food is mostly made up meatballs and onion cake.”

“I built a fucking empire out of sand! Have you ever tried growing shit in sand? No you don’t Mrs. 83% arable land! I had to build an army while your ex-husband masturbated to his piano and made cake. Someone had to make sure Germany didn’t fucking collapse again. So excuse me if-if-” He broke into coughing again and turned his face away from her while it wracked through him.

“Whoa, turn down the attitude before you go and knock yourself out. Bake it, you sound like crap.”

“B-Bake it?” He barked, trying to form words through whatever he was trying to clear from his chest. 

“Shut up for five minutes, would you? We’re almost there.”


	3. Chapter 3

He was shaking. Shivering hard enough to make his teeth click together as he answered her. She pulled into her street and the car came to a stop a moment later. 

“Sit tight.” She said, sliding out of the car. She left the keys in the ignition, as promised, but something a little softer than pity gripped her. She shed her coat and tossed it over his legs. He gave her a sullen look and opened his mouth up, but couldn’t say anything as coughing forced his face into his elbow once more. She finally got out and swiped at the sweat on her brow. He might be ill, but there was no way she was about to sweat herself down a dress size on the way to the cabin. 

She made her way up to her flat on the top floor. The exposed stairs made the going precarious, her spiked heels sliding on the half-melted ice. But as soon as she was in the door, she had everything off, leaving a trail of her shoes, coat and scarf to her bedroom. She extracted her half full duffle bag from under the bed, shoved some heavy, winter appropriate clothes in and switched out her expensive work clothes for worn-in jeans, a thick sweater and heavy boots. She laced up her boots quickly and winter clothing for heading out into the snowy countryside. She scrubbed the makeup off her face and braided her hair. It was just as easy to trade in the stylish government official for a woodsy fisherwoman now as it had been during her marriage. 

She played with the end of her braid for a moment, twisting the curl around the end of her finger. It was lighter now, more of a light oak than the dark bronze it had been before. She’d been a proper woman when it had been dark. With her hair and face always hidden under a hat splayed with flowers, the sun hadn’t been able to lighten her hair or darken her skin. She’d been a painted study in extremes during her marriage and then a political study in polarisation after. Communism, fascism and finally democracy. For the first time in hundreds of years, the woman who looked back in the mirror wasn’t the reflection of another power’s influence. The only thing in the mirror now was the truth in her own face. The last time that had happened, she’d been a strapping lad in green, staring into the Danube. There’d there’d been a boy with a knight’s black crosses emblazoned across his white tunic and the hair to match just beside her. 

When she slid into the car a few moments later, the image in the rear view was the same. A strapping lass in green in the foreground and a boy with a black cross around his neck just next to her. 

“You changed.” He sounded confused, peering up at her from under his bangs. She turned around to shove her bag onto the back seat. It came to a stop tangled in his. 

“I did.” She said, kindly. 

“Why? You looked nice.” 

“We’re going out to the country. I don’t think my work heels are very appropriate for shovelling snow.” 

He nodded and looked let down somehow. Taking advantage of the silence, she retrieved the thermos of tea she’d left on the car roof as she’d slid into her seat and produced an orange bottle of painkillers from her pocket.

“I come bearing gifts.” 

“You’re a saint amongst women, you know that right?” He said as he palmed a handful of pills and washed them down with a sip of tea. He spluttered, choking on air before . She winced for the state of his liver. 

“Holy shit, Erzsé, How much of that is tea and how much of that is pálinka?”

“Half and half, tops.” 

“God, Erszi.” 

“It’ll cure what ails ya, or kill you off trying!” She laughed. “Here, give me that.” He gladly handed her the mug and she took a swig, bracing herself as it sank to her belly. 

“Whooo!” She hooted as heat barraged her stomach lining. “That’s the good stuff.” 

He looked at her, bewildered. “You bitched for 35 years straight when all I had was Blue Strangler and you can down that crap behind the wheel? Can you even get drunk at this point?”

“Sure I can.” She said cheerfully, and took another swig. “I’d demonstrate, but one should technically be sober behind the wheel.” 

“God help me.” 

“Oh hush, and drink your tea before it gets cold.” 

The pills must have been kicking in, because he gave her a low, compliant hum instead of an answer. She finally put the car and drove. As they made their way out towards the suburbs, she spared him the occasional glance at him in the rearview. He was quiet and sipping at the tea brew occasionally. 

She watched, satisfied, as he took another drink and sank into his seat rather sleepily. Erzsébet softened. She adjusted her coat over her knees and palmed his forehead. 

“Köszönöm.” He stumbled over her own word for thank you, slurring the vowels together. Her language wasn’t a forgiving one, even in the mouth of a man who’d been speaking it for a thousand years, 

“Mit Vergnügen.” She replied, absently smoothing his hair back. Her eyes are on the road, but her attention is on the smooth spikes under her hand. “Get some sleep.” 

The drive is quiet after that. The traffic is light from the city into the suburbs and then there is only the occasional pair of oncoming headlights after the city fades to villages and then only the occasional farmhouse. The concrete is new, the engine is smooth. Above its low hum, there is only the soft rumble of Gilbert’s occluded breath. Her world narrowed to the road. Forests line their way as the road weaves around this section of the lake. When there is a thicker stretch of land between the path and the beach trees arch over the tarmac like clasped fingers until there are only hints of moonlight and blue beyond. As the road curved back towards the water and the trees thin, she can make out the familiar fish scales of frozen waves as they rippled in towards the snow laden beach. Out further there are the remnants of places smoothed for hockey skates and the odd hole bored out for ice fishing. The whole world is silver and blue and she can feel it in her very bones. 

This late in the winter, the currents under both her lakes and her rivers picked up. What was sluggish at Christmas is racing under the ice. She can feel it like her blood under her skin. The snow is no longer virginal and rounded, but grey and heaped away from the roads and homes. Under it, she can feel the soil warming just a little as life stirs, ready for winter. In the woods and on the plateaus, she can feel fawns stirring in the bellies of the does and kits in the bellies of the foxes. She can almost feel the velvet on the Stag’s antlers as winter’s grip begins to expire. Leaves are ready to unfurl from her trees. The world has not yet thawed, but all is gaining momentum for the upcoming warmth. 

When the world is quiet like this, she felt it. It was as easy as being aware of her own body. The world begs for the next step in the cycle. As the days grow longer all that can grow strong and verdant soaked up the sun and prepared. She is ready for spring and for new life. She no longer has ports to the Mediterranean. But she is built for the water. The decades since her divorce has left her happy in the freshwater. The Danube and Tisza rivers that divide her into thirds cross between her legs. All the warmth and surging movement knots right where it is most uncomfortable when the only person currently available to satiate it is fast asleep in the passenger’s seat. She worked her thigh muscles, trying to press the ache away. She shifted from side to side, squeezing her thighs together and rotating on her tailbone to maximize friction. Her grip at ten and two wavered a little and the car crossed the meridian for a moment. She yanked the car back into the lane. 

The sudden movement roused Gilbert. He smothered a yawn and blinked at her, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You good, Erzsé?” He mumbles, sounding still half-asleep. The hoarse rasp of her name, her Hungarian name, seemed to split all the blood in her body between her face and the vertex linking her hips. Roderick would never call her that. It was always Elizaveta. He claimed it was the elegant, proper version of her name. Erzsébet was associated with blood and Bathory. Elizaveta was a lady’s name, he’d told her. But oh, it felt good to be associated with blood and Bathory and power. 

“Fine.” She said through clenched teeth. She spared him a glance. His bangs are ruffled over his face and as he came back to consciousness, the sharp lines and angles of his face showed under the faint light of the radio. She looks at the road again, thighs still clenched. 

He hummed an affirmative and did not seem to notice the surly, frustrated quality to her response. He’s right there. All she’s ever wanted, just in the seat next to her with that impish face that’s barely aged in a thousand years of knowing him, She’s seen those sharp features of his splattered with blood and smeared with filth over a cocky, ferocious grin. She’s seen them yellow with jaundice and snow-driven misery. She’s seen them grey with death itself in 1947. Now, with fever-pink cheeks and sleepy eyes, he’s the prettiest she can ever remember him being. Despite it all, peace and warmth suited him better than war. 

She squirmed in her seat, the heat low in her belly soaring for him. It’d been too long. He is not Roderick who only ever wanted to make her a mirror for his own reflection. He is not Ludwig, the powerhouse of a lover. He is not Francis’ naughty sensibilities or Felix’s strange sexual mores or Ivans’s awkward, forceful advances. He is Gilbert. He is all that’s left of the efficiency and obedience of the Prussian war machine. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked. The words were brittle with her attempt to keep her voice light. 

“Better. Palinka must have helped.” He said and she can hear the wry smile on his face. He pronounced Palinka just right, popping the constants and rumbling the vowels just right, no hint of his growly northern accent in it. His language can make butterfly terrifying, but he can still occasionally round out the vowels of her language just right. The knot of nerves throbbed. She could hardly take it.

“Good. I need a hand.” 

“Hmm? What with?” He sounded more alert now. “Erzsé,” There’s her name again. It jolts straight where it shouldn’t. “If you can’t navigate your own country, I don’t have a damn prayer.” 

“I literally need a hand.” She engaged cruise control, stared dead ahead and let her knees splay. 

“You...” She could almost hear the wrinkle of disorientated confusion forming between his brows. She’d smooth it away, but she was busy keeping them on the road

“Need a hand. Now.” 

“Oh-Okay.” He stumbled over the word, confused and hesitant. The bewilderment was endearing. “Shouldn’t you uh, pull over?” 

“Nope, still taking you home and making sure you don’t die. But I might explode if you don’t help me out here.” 

“Al-alright.” He stuttered. There was a beat, but then his his arms were on her thighs and his fever-hot torso is leaning heavily over the center console. She heard him crack his knuckles and smelled his hair under her chin. 70 years since he’d last seen combat and he still smelled like soap and gunpowder. The scent stabbed deep. Her body buzzed. He slid two fingers under her waistband. Despite his fever, his hands are cold. Goosebumps emerge from her skin. She focused on the road. The white lines, the tree line, the cold, hard spikes of water on her shoreline. His fingers dove deeper, stroking her through her underwear. She sighed. His fingers swirled around her labias and she can feel herself responding, fluttering and heating up. 

“How’s that?” He asked gently, voice little more than a breath. 

“Harder.” She gasped. He huffed and shoved up. His nails scraped her and the bones of his fingers met her pubic bone. 

She winced. “Fuck- this isn’t ‘44. You’re not invading me, Gilbert.” 

“Sorry. I haven’t done this in a moving vehicle before.” She felt him flinch. His hand retreated from her. 

“Pants off,” She commanded. He obeyed and had her jeans down around her knees before they passed the next mile marker. She braced her boots against the footwell and spread her legs. 

“Alright. Just like you normally do. Just adjust for the angle, okay? You’re playing an instrument, not firing artillery.” 

“I’m not exactly musical, Erzsé.” He said, but his hand found the wet center and he explored, two of his long, pen callused fingers reaching inside her and his first finger against the higher bud. His nail found her clit more lightly this time and he made broad, powerful strokes as he pumped. His trigger finger curled around and the knot of want eased. He backed off then, pushing his fingers deeper into her and flexing. She tightened around and moaned. He reached for her chest, yanked down her shirt and palmed her breast. His thumb found her nipple. Her back arched. She could feel the warmth and the rushing momentum of her waterways between her legs again.

“Keep’ em at ten and two, Erzsé. I’m not dying with my hands in your snatch.” 

“That’s romantic,” She snorted, not perturbed at all. 

“Yeah, well I’m not the type.” His thumb found her clit again and she squirmed. It tread around and encircled her. She pushed into his hand and he rewarded her with another broad stroke. Her toes curled in her boots. 

“Hey, Erzsé?” He asked, hesitantly. 

“Yeah?” She gasped. “You’re doing fine. Don’t stop.” 

“How’s your economy these days?” 

“Strong. Positive growth across the board.” She almost slurred, the words turning to jelly as he plunged fingers into her. 

“Alright. So you won’t catch whatever I’ve got.” 

“Wha-” 

His face disappeared between her legs. He dragged his tongue along her clit and kept his fingers in her. He kissed around her labia and lightning exploded behind her eyes. Her rolling hills passed in front of her were covered in snow, but once more, she could feel the life in the earth there. Power collected in her bones and she wanted it all between her legs, against his mouth. 93,030 square kilometres of her Carpathian Basin poured into her. She was a third of the woman who’d married Roderick, but her gasp was just as loud and her hand scraped against his back just as fiercely. Her bare ass rose off the seat. Ten and two turned to one hand at the six of the wheel as she grabbed a fistful of his pale hair and forced his face deeper between her legs. The engine sounded in her ears.

She heard the snort of a laugh and his breath across the damp of her sent her thrusting her hips around his head. His nose tickled the bud as he mouthed something into her. His hand retreated and he braced himself against her knees, pushing them wide, before redoubling his efforts. His tongue went skyward and found her swollen clit. He sucked it and flicked at it, She was surrounded and engulfed by the best of German engineering. 

Before the next exit sign, he came up for air, but before he could do more than take a breath, she was pushing him down again. He spluttered but persisted with licking and laving at her clit in quick, firm strokes. He worked furiously, stimulating everything he could reach. They’re three miles out before she finally, blessedly poured her orgasm out. 

He emerged and kept a hand on the steering wheel even as he leaned back into his seat. She heard his breath catch and then he spasmed into a coughing fit. When he got himself under control after a solid minute, she spared him a glance. His mouth was swollen and he looked decidedly peaky. He cleared his throat, harshly, heaving. His lips were bloodless and a little blueish. 

“You good?” He asked, wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve. 

She was a little cross eyed with pleasure and her legs were utterly useless. She nodded and kept her grip on the steering wheel loose as she shook herself out. New energy flooded through her limbs and she felt oddly satiated, even for freshly orgasming. Her land was healthy. Her people were healthy. The world looked a little brighter, even for the night. 

“Good, because I think you just pull a whole new spin on maneater.” 

“You too! I forgot how damn good you are at that.” 

He heaved a sigh and it caught in his throat. This time, the coughing fit kept up until his head was between his knees and tears were streaming down his face with his inability to catch is breath. He stayed hunched over, shuddering, until she pulled the car into the drive. 

“You gonna live?” She asked, smacking him on the back. 

He nodded, face pinched in pain even as he forced air into his lungs. “We here?” 

“We’re here.” She affirmed. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said you modernised.” 

She beamed at him. The place was a busted up beach shack back in the 60s, now it was a small fortress, complete with chained gates and a tall privacy fence. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

“O-kay.” He deadpanned. 

She made quick work of the lock and chains and flung the gates open. The plough had been through since the last snowfall so she returned to the car and drove the remaining hectare. 

Gilbert’s eyebrow’s shot skyward. 

“You built a chalet?” 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She sighed. It was all dark wood and glass windows under the sloping roof. On the far wall where there weren’t windows, the overhanging eaves were lined with a pattern of bright orange flowers, just like the one’s she wore in her hair.

“It’s very... Swiss.” 

“Austrian.” She sighed happily. “Just like the one I had before Trianon.”


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
  
  
  
He stared out the window, up to the elegant lines of her house. “Jesus, Liz.” He said dourly. And there it was again, Liz. Elizaveta. Elizaveta Edelstein. When she hadn’t been Hungarian at at all, but Austrian and a woman and married not just to Roderick but to his Habsburgs and their sprawling, crumbling empire. She frowned at him. He looked back at her, gaze searching her face and his own caught somewhere between wry humour and a taut nervousness.

“Not gonna lie, I’m having flashbacks to Oktoberfest of ‘94.” Swallowing audibly, he sounded shaky, unsure.

She took the keys from the ignition and huffed. “Oh for the love of Christ, will you ever let that go? I’m not going to drug you and leave you on the side of a mountain in lederhosen again.”

He have her an uncertain half smile. “Good to know. And thanks, I think?”

“Besides, it’s not like you have the ass for lederhosen it these days.” She grinned and opened the door to get out.

“Hey!” He barked as she got out.

She slammed her door shut behind her. “What? You don’t! And get your shit out of the back.”

He shut his door behind him and when the slam rung out, squeezed his eyes shut in a wince, blanching the colour of potato flour. She almost made to steady him, but he scrubbed at his face and collected his rucksack from the backseat, tossing her a foul look, rubbing his backside under the wool of his coat as he stood.

“I’ll have you know I had a very perky ass in about 1880.”

She gave him a smirk, tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Yeah, back in 1880 so did I!”

“Bustles don’t count.” Gilbert insisted as they mounted the stairs. Erzsé was to the door, keys in the lock and she looked back. Gilbert was clutching the railing, mouth open in a frantic ‘o’, his chest heaving horribly. He glared, begging her not to say anything. She didn’t.

“Excuse you?” She snapped, mock-furious.

“What?” He breathed, finally easing himself painfully up the steps.

“You looked? I was married!” She flung the door open and was relieved to find it at least a little warmer than outside. Gilbert looked ready to keel over. And keel over he did, right onto the waiting bench in her mudroom.

“So? It’s kind of hard to miss the goddamn bird cage hanging off your hips!” He scrubbed at his mouth with a gloved hand and glared up at her.

“Still!” For her part, she pretended not to see the smile tugging at his mouth.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? So what if I looked! You weren’t exactly faithful to your dearest husband anyway.” Her smile faded a little there. True enough, her relationship with Roderick hadn’t exactly been the princess's fairytale romance little girls seemed too enamoured with in the last century or two but they had been happy in their way.

She growled at him. “I didn’t even look at you-”

“Then I was the lone man in Europe who didn’t get his own personal slice of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.” He snorted, and that was it. That was more than enough.

“That’s enough already! Don’t take your bullshit out on me, Gilbert Beilschmidt!”

He looked genuinely confused for a moment, but quickly buried in aggression, as he always did his weakness. “I’m not-”

She thought of the past few years. His brother’s strength, his flagging health. His brother’s money. His brother’s leadership in the heart of this new Europe. “You are too. It’s not my fault you just put your mouth where your brother’s money is!”

“You... you and and Lutz—” He stared at her, his eyes bulging and his jaw slack.

“I don’t fuck your brother you thick son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“Oh please, shut the fuck up.”

He did, his jaw closing with the click of his teeth. She stormed past him into the kitchen, cranking up the thermostat, turning on the water, flicking the powerbox back on. Shedding her coat after a moment, she hung it from a peg in the hall and turned back to the kitchen. Fetching the matches from the cupboard, she flicked the the stove to life and rubbed her hands over the flame before she filled the kettle and set it on the stove.

“Are you hungry?” She asked. She didn’t receive an answer because he hadn’t followed her into the kitchen.

“Gilbert?” She asked. She poked her head through the kitchen door. He’s still sitting on the mudroom, struggling with his boots. She wants to ask if he needs help but, well, his pride. Sliding back into the kitchen, she yelled over her shoulder.

“What kind of tea?”

She hears a round of violent coughing before he answers in a wrecked, thin voice. “Got some of Sadik’s in there?”

Christ, he sounds like shit, but she doesn’t have any of the thick turkish tea Gilbert’s gotten a taste for as Berlin filled with Turkish immigrants.

“Nope. Green or English?”

“Fuck alright, coffee it is.”

“Don’t have any.”

“You don’t have coffee?”

She did, it was in the cupboard just to the left but he didn’t need coffee after dark.

“The apocalypse is nigh.” He said, sighing dramatically.

She rolled her eyes. “Green or black?”

“Green, I guess.” She heard him pad, sock footed, into the room.

“Honey?”

“No.” He said. She stirred a spoonful in in anyway. Twenty minutes later, they’re laying together curled on the couch. She’s laughing at some stupid joke and his heart is still beating stupidly in his chest.

“God, you know, I still can’t make jokes like that in front of Lutz? I was with Arthur at the bar when we were all stuck in Brussels and we’re sitting there, right? And Arthur started talking about funny shit America did during the war and then it’s my turn.”

“This is gonna be good.”

“It was late in ’44. Arthur had just bombed the living shit out of Berlin again, and Lutz was probably off shooting someone in the head for Valkyrie so it’s just Hitler and I, since y’know, Berlin is kind of mine. We’re standing at the the top of Berlin’s tallest radio tower when Hitler says he needs to do something that will brighten up the German people.

“Oh god, what did you say?”

“No shit? I looked him dead in the eye and said, ‘Well why don’t you jump off?”

“You didn’t!”

“I swear to God, I did. So when Arthur and I are sitting laughing our schlitzed asses off and I look up and there’s Lutz. He looked at me like I’d just run over Blackie.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I swear he loves those dogs more than me. But the kicker was, he’d come over to pay my tab.”

“Well that’s uncharacteristically sweet of him.”

“Must be Feli rubbing off on him.”

“Well he sure as shit didn’t get if from you.”

“Woman, you came twice on my birthday and I had to jerk off in a goddamn park to finish. I am a fucking saint.”

“We had sex on your birthday?”

“It was three in the morning when you strolled your ass into Berlin and decided to jump my bones in the Mauerpark like the kinky soviet shit we did in the 60s.”

“I didn’t even think about that being your birthday.”

He rolled his eyes. “It technically isn’t. That’s October Third. But nope, January 18th. You fucked me senseless. We’re lucky I didn’t get arrested for public exposure.”

She laughed. “Oh, West would have kicked your ass.”

“Nah he would have just killed me. You know, with how many times I’ve died... Am I technically a zombie?”

“Christ, did you spike a fever again?”

“Not high enough, I’m cold.”

“If you can feel cold, you’re not dead. And if you’re not dead, you can’t be a zombie.”

“Corpses are definitely cold, Erzse.”

She laughed and handed him his mug of tea.

“I could have sworn Zombie’s ate brains, not punci.”

He grinned that sweet, crooked smile of his. The rare one. “Good point.” She handed him her mug and lifted the corner of the blankets to shimmy under them and across the bed to him. He opened his arms, one mug in each and nodded down. She she settled against his chest with a happy sigh and when her mug was safely in her hands once more, he wrapped his free hand around her. She leaned back, curled up on her side. He made a small happy sound and she scoot up a little more until her head was at his heart. Here, against his chest, she could hear the wet misfire that was his straining heart. Even with his shirt and hoodie between them, she could feel the clammy heat rolling off him. His inhales rattled in his chest and his exhales caught in his throat, sounding high pitched and choked off, like air drawn through a flute reed fixed too tightly. She didn’t like the sound of it.

“Hey, I meant to ask earlier. Do you want to call West?”

“No.” He shook his head and lifted the crook of his elbow to his face to cough. His chest spasmed savagely under her.

She winced. “Are you sure, that sounds awful.”

“It’s fine. I just need to sleep it off. C’mere.”

She placed her half empty mug on the table under the lamp and he nestled them together. She pressed her head to his chest and he sagged against the pillows, head falling to rest on the back of the couch. They laid like that for a while, the tv buzzing quietly in front of them with the American zombie movie.

His breathing evened out, but stayed shallow. She listened. His breaths were shallow and his lungs sounded like an old wintertime steam engine being turned over, rusty, obstructed and reluctant to work. He coughed a little more above her head, and groaned. It was the same groan she’d heard for a thousand years. When he’d been sliced or shot or slammed full of shrapnel.

“You should really call your brother.”

“Mmm?” He opened his eyes, but they didn’t really focus on her.

“I really don’t like how you sound, You should call Lutz and see a doctor.”

He yawned. “It’s fine, Erzse.”

“Is it? You didn’t even sound like this last time the plague went through.” She remembered 1708, when his teeth had been constantly bloody with what he’d hacked up from his lungs.

He shrugged. “It didn’t kill me then, it won’t kill me now. C’mere, I’m cold.”

“Gilbert you had a fucking nation then!”

“Yeah, so?”

“That’s the only thing that keeps us alive. And you don’t have one now!”

He sighed. “Is that what you’re worried about? Erzse, I have a country.”

“East Germany isn’t a country.”

“Yes I feel it. It's not the same a Prussia was, but it’ll do. Erzse, I’m fine. Now will you please come her already?”

“Last I saw there wasn’t some sort of plague rolling through the E.U in the year of our lord 2017. So why the fuck are you in such bad shape?”

“I just said it's not like it was with Prussia. I get sick. It happens. Now will you please—”

“You just get sick, just like that?”

“Its the goddamn anniversary. Yes, it happens.”

“So if you can get sick like human, you can die like a human.”

He blew a huff of air up at his bangs. “No. Erzse, for christ’s sake, its fine.”

“You sound like you’re dying.”

“Oh for the love of— I’m not dying!”

“You don’t know that—”

“What are you so worried about anyway! I’m not going anywhere!”

“You could—”

“Okay so maybe I could! So what! Just burn me and send Lutz the bill! Fuck knows he can afford it!”

“That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it!. “And you shouldn’t talk like that.” She turned over twice, away from him and out of arm’s reach.

He groaned, “Erzse—”

“Don’t! You can never take anything seriously. You don’t have a country and no one knows why you’re still here.”

“Yes I do.”

“Then why, Gilbert, why the fuck are you still here when everything you’ve ever had is gone? Why the fuck are you so careless?”

He shrugged. “I’m here because I want to be.”

“You could die at anytime without Prussia—”

“So? We could all die at anytime. The second Alfred dropped that goddamn bomb he made the world something— I don’t know, something else. We learned that when the wall was up, didn’t we? To never take the sun rising for granted ever again? Christ, nothing’s permanent. I’m here, right?”

“Gilbert—”

“Erzse! He mocked, holding out the last vowel of her name too long and mimicking her higher voice. “I’m still here, woman. I survived the war and the wall. I’ll survive whatever he fuck. Just come here already before I freeze.”

“You dumbass.” She said, but this time, she scoot back over.

“I’m a dumbass, sure, but I’m a dumbass with a pulse. And it's not going anywhere and you know what, even if it did, this is the last place I’d wanna be.”

“Well if you don’t like it, you can goose step your way back home.”

“No— No that’s not what I meant. I meant if this is gonna be the last place I see on earth, that’s fine with me.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“Why here? Berlin’s yours.”

“Well duh, I’m everywhere in Berlin. My gate, my palaces, my museums, my parks, my people. I built them, they’re mine and they’re still there and yeah, I think they’re what’s keeping me alive. But they’re only mine in name. They belong to Lutz. We share them, but they’re really his. Konigsburg is gone, my armies are gone, my kings are gone, the Hohenzollerns are gone, my flag is gone, my brothers are gone. And Fritz? Fritz is long gone. And Lutz finally gave him the peace he wanted with those greyhounds of his at Sans Souci.”

“Your brother—”

“My brother has plenty of me. I’m in everything he’ll ever be and in everything he’ll ever build, even if I die. Even Francis has pieces of me. I mean for fuck’s sake, his streets are so goddamn shady because my pasty ass prefers to march in the shade.”

She snorted and he he rewarded her with a wan smile. He drew her hand up and she met him halfway to lay it flat, palm to palm, against his.

“I’ve left a lot to the world, Erzse. Schools, countries, every military in the world teaches my writings. Every soldier in the world has a piece of me in them.”

She laced her hand through to his and knelt. “Gilbert, stop. Stop talking like you’re dying if you’re not.”

“I’m not dying, not today. But we all fade eventually, and I’m more likely to than most of us, but I’m not going anytime soon. There’s so much of me left Erzse, there really is, I swear to god.”

“Then why are you here, huh? Why won’t you talk to Lutz?”

“Erzse— Okay. Okay. Here’s how it is. Where are all the things I’ve left in the world?”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess, fuck I don’t know. Where have I made the most impact in my life?”

“Germany? Berlin?”

“Yeah, there, exactly. Berlin. It's all in Berlin. But who are the most important people?”

“Your people. East Germans.”

“There’s no such thing as an East German anymore. I don’t have people. I have my brother and I have some friends. They all have something of me. But what the fuck do I have to leave you if I kick it, huh? I know you and Lutz would be fine without me. It’ll be fine when I’m gone— but Christ, Erzse, I gotta leave you with something.”

They spoke at the same time.

“Gilbert, I don’t need anything from you but—”

“I don’t have anything to give you but—”

“... You”

“Myself.”

His jaw hung open. “Erzse?”

“Shut up.” She said. “Shut the fuck up.”

She surged up on her knees. They were nearly the same height and her legs had always been longer. She loomed over him and he watched her, his gaze uncertain and desperate. He looked terrified. The long column of his throat working furiously as he gulped. Above his temple, a blue vein pulsed magnificently against the grey of his face. Christ and all the saints, he’d looked braver staring down Natalya’s rifle at Stalingrad. He’d looked less terrified in ‘89 when the wall had come down and threatened to kill him. He’d looked less awful when Napoleon had gelded and occupied him.

 

Then his eyes flashed, wine dark and prideful. It was all she could take. She scrambled for him, tugged his head back his hair and thrust his chin up to meet her. She kissed him viciously, teeth just behind her lips. His mouth was half opened in a gasp as she kissed him and it takes a moment, but he returns it.

He tastes like his lemon-honey tea still and he smells like illness, all sweat and weakness. But he adjusts, gets up to kneel and kiss her. She grips him by the shirt, plunges in deeper, bites down on his lower lip just enough to make him push back. But then he’s pulling away and his lips are blueish. He coughs into his elbow, hard hacking coughs the ring in her head and make her wince. She’s about to reach for him, slap his back—

But then he’s on her, yanking down the loose open shoulder of her cut up t-shirt and palming her breast. Her nipples harden under the gentle rake of his fingers and she feels heat seep between her legs.

“Is this—” He paused, looked up.

“I swear to god if you stop I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Right-o.” He dives down, He kisses her there and happily makes himself useful once more.


End file.
